Uncovered
by Jennifer Hart
Summary: AU It’s January, 2005, and two people and two people who haven’t seen each other in years meet in a library. Containes slight crossover with NCIS in later chapters.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Uncovered

Rating: PG

Classification: Drama, Angst, A/U

Spoilers: Last four episodes of Season 3

Disclaimers: If I owned them, I wouldn't need to be writing this in the first place! The only character that's mine is Josée – please don't use her:)

Summary: It's January, 2005, and two people and two people who haven't seen each other in years meet in a library.

Note: This story contains a crossover with NCIS, but that doesn't happen until much later in the story. All terrorism-related content is completely fictionalized for the purpose of this story. The info about 'Agent Capezzi' is courtesy of the book _Protecting the President_ and is based on reality. Any reviews will be read – but you're not getting any answers before the characters do!

oooooooooo

He knew it would happen one day. It was inevitable. It was why he'd considered transferring offices after what happened. But expecting it didn't make it any easier when he looked up and saw her staring at him, her face whiter than he'd ever seen.

The librarian referred to him by name then, asking if he had any other questions for her. For a minute, he considered hiding behind that, letting her think her eyes were playing tricks on her. But he couldn't do it.

Instead, he thanked the librarian for her time and walked over to where she stood, slowly trying to process what she was seeing.

"C.J.?" he said softly.

"I don't...I don't believe..."

"Come on, let's talk."

"Talk?" The words were a strangled sob. "Talk!? Talk is something I've been wanting to do for the last two-and-a-half years! Talk is something I thought I had to do at the cemetery!"

"There's nothing I can say that will make what you went through worth it. But I can give you some of the answers you never got that night."

"And then what?" He looked at her, feeling in his eyes all the pain and emotion from that night.

"That's up to you."

oooooooooo

**From this point on, all first-person scenes are in Simon's POV.**

My partner Josée Strug and I had been called into the Director's office. This wasn't the typical way we'd receive assignments unless our assignment dealt with serious terrorist activity. Did I think then about the probability of what ended up happening actually occurring? I don't know. Maybe.

"This is Special Agent Ron Butterfield, head of the U.S. Secret Service DC Field Office," the Director explained.

Josée and I both shook his hand. "Sir."

"What I'm about to tell you is something the public has no idea about and it goes no further than the four of us unless I say otherwise. Do you understand?" Agent Butterfield looked both of us in the eye.

"Yes, sir."

"Since shortly after the New Year, a series of attempts have been made against the president's life. All have been small and low-profile and have been kept out of public knowledge. A terrorist group known as 'The Wings of Retribution' have claimed responsibility for each of the incidents. You may also know them as 'The King's Men.'"

"An extremist faction dedicated to overthrowing the American government and bringing us back under British rule," I answered. The agent nodded.

"All of the attacks have occurred in what are considered to be secure locations. Car bomb planted in the Presidential limousine. Explosives wired to the cables of an elevator in the White House. Sniper fire along motorcade routes changed in less than an hour's notice."

"How can that be possible?" Josée asked, her voice showing the disbelief of a doctor watching an otherwise healthy patient dying under routine surgery.

"It isn't, unless the person responsible has ties to the Secret Service." Agent Butterfield looked Josée and I in the eye. "There is an assassin on the President's security detail. And I don't know who they are."

Dead bodies don't make me sick to my stomach. Neither do the carnival rides that are specifically designed for that purpose. But hearing Agent Butterfield's words left me with a depth of nausea beyond any flu bug I'd ever had.

"I realize you're operating a man short right now. But I need the best team on this, and that's something I can't have with my people, not without the possibility of having the assassin work the investigation."

The agent Josée and I normally worked with had been recalled to his previous duty station to testify in a high-profile court case he'd been involved with. However I could have had no backup and I would have made the same call. So would Josée. It's what we do.

ooooooooooooo


	2. Chapter 2

"It's going to raise suspicion if we put you on the presidential detail immediately without you first working another position in the DC Field office, so we've devised an alternate cover for you. The White House Press Secretary, C.J. Cregg, has been receiving death threats and the decision was made to assign her a presidential detail. You'll be heading it."

Butterfield handed me two files. "The first file is yours. We've given you a nine year history with Secret Service and your previous place of employment was with the Chicago Police Department, where you specialized in working stalking/harassment cases. You were just brought in from the New York field office for this assignment because of that background.

"The second file is your new protectee, C.J. Cregg. A word of warning: she's fiercely independent and is not going to be too appreciative of having a Secret Service agent watching her every move. You ever protect a teenager?"

"Do seven Russian gymnasts count?"

Agent Butterfield grinned. "You've got the right idea. Now we're going to put a hidden camera into your tie. That will allow Special Agent Strug to see everything you see. She'll also be patched in to the Secret Service radio channel."

"Okay."

"One more thing. Twenty years or so ago, some agents decided to have some fun at the Secret Service's expense and created a fictional agent named Capezzi at one of the other field offices. The guy received radio calls, filled out paperwork, you name it. He's a Secret Service legend. He still shows up occasionally so we're going to use that to our advantage." Agent Butterfield looked me in the eye. "If at any point, we notice you're in danger or that your cover has been blown, you'll receive a message for Agent Capezzi to report somewhere. The location won't matter. What you'll need to do is get out of there, lose yourself in a crowded place, and then get to a safe location where we can pick you up. Understood?"

I nodded. "Okay. You've got about twelve hours before you start shift."

ooooooooooooo

"C.J. Cregg?"

"Yeah," she said absently.

"Special Agent Simon Donovan. I'm with the Treasury Department."

"Aha. What branch of the Treasury Department, Agent Donovan?" I realized we could dispense with the small talk. She was obviously fully aware of what was going on. I pulled out my badge.

"U.S. Secret Service. I don't like flashing it around, it gives some people the jumps. But Agent Butterfield said you were a reluctant customer."

"How does this work?" Reluctant was an understatement. Then again, most people under a protection detail tend to be pretty angry, although it usually has less to do with the lack of independence and more with the fact that it makes the threat seem more real.

"What is it you'd like to know?" The question was usually a good ice-breaker as it helped people realize that I don't mind getting questions about what I'm doing, or answering them when I can. I think it makes the detail seem more human.

"Well first of all, from how far away can you do this?" The question was typical, and not exactly easy to answer without going into a lot of detail, which she probably wasn't up for yet.

"I can respect a certain perimeter of privacy."

"What does that mean?"

That was my question the first time I heard that response too. "I don't need to see you naked or anything." I tried for a bit of levity as I added, "Though, 'better safe than sorry' is a bit of a motto for us at the Treasury." She didn't appreciate the humor and I grimaced inwardly. "I don't know, you're the boss." This was relative. I didn't expect her to include me in her daily life the way you would a friend spending the day with you, but obviously I wouldn't be reducing security precautions just because she asked for a longer leash.

"I'll be leading a detail of four agents each working a third of the day, one day off a week. We'll set up a command post in your apartment building, set up surveillance, you can put your car in your garage, you'll be using ours."

Rather than answer, Ms. Cregg walked out of the room and I followed her. She stopped and turned to me.

"You can't go in the briefing room."

These are always slightly amusing situations, when people forget our obvious security clearances and assume that normal restriction procedures include us too. "A crowded room where anyone can get credentialed and you're up at the podium? No, I'm pretty sure I'll be there," I told her. I could tell she was ticked off as she reached for the door handle and I decided to give her a little lesson in perspective.

"This guy isn't small time, Ms. Cregg. You're being hunted." I looked her in the eye. "By the way, I can't guarantee anything except to say that if you're dead, chances are I am too."

If you say that to most people they'll apologize and are anal with following any rules you lay out for the next 24 hours or more – even to a point where we have to tell them to relax. It strikes a nerve and they realize that there's a reciprocal dependence happening. We're responsible to keep them alive, but unofficially they start feeling responsible for keeping us safe by not doing anything stupid. But if it struck a nerve with Ms. Cregg she didn't show it. All she said was, "Well, I guess it's gonna have to be the little things now."

I tried not to roll my eyes and merely said, "Yeah. I'll check in with my command." Clearly trying to find the traitor on the detail was going to be the easy part.

ooooooooooooo


	3. Chapter 3

**For clarification, these flashbacks aren't exactly word-for-word what Simon would have told C.J., they're what he's remembering. Obviously C.J. would be getting a more censored version!**

ooooooooooooo

Four evenings later, as we walked into the White House after returning from Finland, I realized that my experience with the Russian gymnastics team was nothing like this assignment. Those girls had barely looked me in the eye, hardly said a word to me, and didn't try to duck security except at night, where it became a ritual for them to sneak out of their hotel rooms. By contrast, C.J. Cregg attempted to lose me any chance she got – night or day – and spent almost any time we were together letting me know exactly what she thought of the whole situation.

"...You're always there, I can't shake you. You followed me to Scandinavia and back."

I tried to get a word in edgewise. "Well that's..."

"Don't give me the 'aw shucks' answer, 'Well that's my job, ma'am.' And don't call me 'ma'am,' don't call me 'ma'am, don't call me 'Ms. Cregg.' This isn't a western."

"I am required to call you 'ma'am' or 'Ms. Cregg,'" I told her patiently. "There are rules and regulations."

"Okay, okay, secret agent man, here's my rules and regulations. I'm getting in my baby blue '65 Mustang convertible and I'm gonna feel the wind in my hair and any place else I want. You can look at my taillights."

Again I attempted a bit of humor. "I think I'm not allowed to do that either."

"I will see you at home!" Okay, bad timing.

"Okay." My voice was mild and didn't make her hesitate in the least as she stormed out. I waited quietly for a second as she realized I wasn't following her and then came back in.

"There's no way you're letting me walk out the door, so what is it we're doing?"

"I'm sorry?" I replied.

"What's your plan for me?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a plan."

"Are you gonna let me drive myself home?"

"No." I pulled an object from my pocket and held it up, trying not to smile. "I've got your spark plug. Is that what you meant?"

The expression on her face was priceless. "You've got my spark plug?"

"And your battery. Fuel pump, starter relay, timing belt, the ignition fuse. And well, also the engine, I guess."

"Did you leave me anything?"

"Wiper fluid. You can clean your windshield. No, actually, you need the battery."

"Yeah." Sam Seaborne showed up at that moment and got her attention with a videotape that had just arrived, so I just stood back, enjoying a decidedly unprofessional relief that she was getting on someone else's case for a change.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Ms. Cregg informed me that she was going shopping at lunch, probably figuring I'd tell her that was out of the question. Instead I said mildly, "Sure. Where are you going?"

"Does it matter?" From the tone of her voice I half wondered if she wanted me to tell her a particular place wasn't permitted so she could try and insist on going there. Immediately I chastised myself mentally for the cynicism. I'd recently attended a training workshop on providing protection for witnesses, and part of the training had been putting each of us under a security detail for 72 hours. The idea had been to help us understand what it's like for a person who has to go from living a normal life to living under constant supervision and why some of them would have less than obliging attitudes at times.

The memory of that training was why I responded with a slight grin and, "I like to let the manager know I'll be carrying a gun."

I don't know if she actually appreciated the touch of humor, but her tone was less challenging and more conversational when she answered, "I'm taking my niece Hogan shopping for a dress for her Junior Prom."

"Okay," I replied. She gave me a sidelong look.

"You're not gonna say that Hogan's a strange name for a girl?"

Not without knowing her opinion first. "For a boy too, I guess," I said.

"My older brothers are golf crazies."

That didn't help much, since I don't follow golf, but all I said was, "Okay." I followed her back into her office. "Well, it's our first time out, this is exciting. We're not under the umbrella of the president's protection, so there's a couple things I wanna tell you. In a populated place, I always walk ahead of you. I don't like more than five feet between us, so if you ditch me because my back is to you, that would be too much. Also, it would give me no choice but to surround you with department security before you made it to Men's Accessories. You're a very recognizable woman; if you're surrounded by security, frankly, people are gonna point and stare."

Ms. Cregg shot me a less than enthusiastic look. "Anything else, Agent Sunshine?"

I wondered briefly if the press secretary had any idea of the amount of ridicule she'd set me up for from Josée with those two words. Aloud, I said, "It's Special Agent Sunshine, but that couldn't matter les. At the risk of being ungentlemanly I can't carry bags; my hands always have to be free."

"Plus you're not my valet."

I couldn't resist an impertinent grin. "Yeah, but I'm still growing and I got my eyes on the prize."

Like usual she ignored my attempt at humor and said, "Bernie's on Connecticut at 12:30."

"I'm optimistic," I told her. "The stats of people being hurt while buying a prom dress are very encouraging."

"It's a Junior Prom." Well, that was a better response than I'd gotten from the Russian team. A couple of them had asked me if there were actual statistics of people being injured while shopping. I'd had fun trying to dig myself out of that one.

"Then you're fine."

"Okay." I gave her a quick smile.

"I'll be around." I'd barely gotten outside the door when my cell phone rang. Quickly I flipped it open. "Donovan."

"How's it going, Agent Sunshine?" Josée's laughter was unmistakable.

"Don't go there."

Josée chuckled again. "Just letting you know, the background checks came back, nothing."

"Crap." I sighed. "Thanks."

"No problem. I'll let you go behind a cloud now." She giggled and hung up before I could respond.

ooooooooooooo

"What is it that you guys look for exactly?" I looked over at Hogan and smiled. This shopping trip was fast becoming one of the more fun moments of this assignment. Hogan Cregg had an interest in law enforcement, and was enjoying asking me questions about the job when she got the chance.

"You know it when you see it."

"What do you mean?" I glanced quickly at the dressing room and, satisfied Ms. Cregg was safe, decided to give Hogan an actual exercise from the protection training I'd taken. I walked over to her and led her to the front of the store. "Look this way." I turned her slightly. "Now look this way. Now look this way. Now look this way. Now look at me. What did you see?"

"Uh... over here there was a mother with two kids. Over there was a man in a coat and I can't remember what else. Over here I can't remember and over here there was the checkout counter and some people and I can't remember what else."

I was impressed. She had a better memory for detail than a lot of kids her age. I asked her, "Anything bother you?"

She shook her head. "No."

"What about the guy in the coat?" She gave me a confused look.

"What about him?" I shrugged.

"It's May. Why is he wearing a coat?" Her eyes lit up in recognition.

"I don't know."

"I don't know either. But until one of us leaves this store I'm always going to know where he is."

"So you're always looking." I nodded.

"Yeah." I flashed her an apologetic smile. "We're actually not supposed to talk that much."

"Sorry." I walked back over to where I'd been standing and Hogan started looking through the dresses again. After a minute, she commented, "So what would it take for you to brandish your weapon?"

Her question caught me off guard and I replied, "What?" She didn't answer and I realized my reply had been more alarmed than necessary. "I mean, excuse me?" I tried.

"What would it take right now for you to just reach in and brandish your weapon?"

I couldn't help but smile. Kids, no matter how old they are, always think law enforcement involves constantly pulling a gun out. "It would have to be something pretty extraordinary."

"How long have you been with the Secret Service?"

I recalled the cover story I'd been given. "Well, I went to college basically on an army scholarship – which means that after you get out you have to serve a certain number of years. Then I was with the Chicago Police Department for a few years and I've been with the Secret Service for the last nine."

"Have you ever brandished your weapon?"

"Yes," I replied honestly.

"Have you ever fired it?"

Unfortunately, too many times. "Yes." Hogan looked at me, confused. "What?"

"I'm just trying to think of when in the last nine years an agent would have had to fire his gun, unless you... You were at Rosslyn."

Crap. I hadn't even thought about that. I was searching for an appropriate response when she said, "Well, you're a good guy." She tried to pat me on the shoulder and without thinking I flinched. "Sorry, am I not allowed to touch you?"

"No, its okay." Just then Ms. Cregg stepped out of the dressing room and looked at us suspiciously.

"Aunt C.J., you're not going to believe this..."

"What?"

I interjected quickly, "Hogan, we're gonna tell her another time, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"Is Simon bothering you?" Ms. Cregg asked quickly.

Hogan looked at her like she was nuts. "No."

"If he is, if he ever does, I want you to shriek at the top of your lungs, okay?"

"Okay."

Oh, boy. I had a bad suspicion that Hogan hadn't told her aunt about her interest in a law enforcement career, especially since she hadn't asked me that many questions while Ms. Cregg was in earshot. Somehow I didn't think that bringing it up while I was in charge of protection detail would go over that well. Not to mention the fact that I'd just said I'd been at Rosslyn. Anyone who'd worked a day in law enforcement in the last two years knew what happened there. Both the President and a White House staff member had been shot and it was a very real memory for everyone on the current administration. It was one thing for Hogan to believe I'd been there, since she hadn't. But her aunt had. There was a chance she'd remember the security detail from that night – including the fact that I wasn't actually on it.

ooooooooooooo

When we got back to the office, Ms. Cregg asked to talk to me privately. After the door was shut behind us, she said, "What were you and Hogan talking about that you would tell me later?"

I avoided Hogan's law enforcement interest all together and replied simply, "I was on Eagle's protection detail in Rosslyn."

Ms. Cregg looked at me for a minute and I braced myself for a question such as, "I don't remember seeing you." Instead, she said quietly. "Oh, I didn't know that."

She also probably didn't know why it had to be such a secret. I started to try and explain – at least, as much as I could explain, when she said something else, too soft for me to hear.

"I'm sorry?" I said, confused. In all the time I'd been on her protection detail, I'd never had trouble hearing her before when she was addressing me, and I half wondered if she wasn't actually talking to me this time.

"I just said, 'thank you.'" I don't know what surprised me more, her words, or her voice. She sounded almost apologetic, with none of her usual confidence and I honestly didn't know what to say.

"Well, I should get going," Ms. Cregg said, still relatively quiet.

"Have a good night," I answered.

"Good night."

After she'd gone I just shook my head. For the first time since I'd started this assignment, I'd actually caught her off guard and she'd revealed a more vulnerable side. It wasn't something that I'd ever expected to happen and I half hoped she was starting to overcome her resentment of my having to protect her. Still puzzling out the change in her I walked over to her desk and began the mandatory check of her e-mails. Most of them were fairly boring and usual White House business, but one subject line caught my eye, "Vera Wang." Curiously, I opened it and read the contents.

_**The Vera Wang looked great on you. I'm glad you bought it. You should wear it in the next couple of days because you're going to be dead soon.**_

I slammed my hand on the desk in frustration. The stalker had been there – in the store we were shopping in. Probably the same bastard in the coat that Hogan and I had noticed. I could have had him. And I didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

"I want you to tell me right now, this second, what are you people doing to catch this guy."

It was the next morning, our second meeting of the day. The first had been a small exchange of pleasantries with Jamie, the off-going agent, and a glare from Ms. Cregg before she'd headed for the briefing room at top speed. And to say the day had started off rough had been an understatement.

I'd spoken to Agent Butterfield, who already had people working on tracing the e-mail. He'd also informed me that they'd received a missive from The King's Men, advising we could expect another attack on the President within the week. My director had spoken to both Josée and I to let us know that more agents were being brought in from our office – anyone who was available. Plans were already being made to put more people in undercover as White House staff. Josée had commented to me that the whole thing felt like being under siege. She was right. And I wasn't enjoying the feeling.

"We are doing all the things that we do," I answered. I knew Ms. Cregg would hate the answer, but there wasn't much else I could tell her. However I knew she'd have plenty to tell me.

"You know, I haven't been happy with any of your answers to my questions."

Without thinking, I retorted, "Well, you've done a pretty good job concealing your dissatisfaction so far."

"Simon..."

I mentally kicked myself and tried to remember the technical gook I'd had to memorize before coming on shift. In a more mollified tone I recited, "The OPR, after examining our hard drive, has determined that he or she attached a virus to the e-mails that were sent to you. It's called a Trojan horse application and once installed, allows the perpetrator to record all of your inputs."

Apparently all that made way more sense to her than it did to me, because immediately Ms. Cregg asked, "He's been reading my e-mail?"

"You traded e-mails with Hogan."

"He knew I was shopping?"

I didn't want to say the next thing, but I'd received clearance to and didn't have much of a choice. "He was there."

"How do you know?"

This was one time where I sincerely wished I could just say 'Need to know' or 'Classified.' "He thought you looked good in the black Vera Wang." I could hear the anger in my voice and I was half worried Ms. Cregg would think it was directed at her. Truthfully I was, but only because she was making me tell her something that I knew would make her feel worse.

Sure enough, she said, "I don't want to know about this."

For a minute I felt like I was trying to protect a child from listening to the news that they're way too young to be hearing. "That's why I don't tell you," I told her.

"You just did," she retorted.

So much for thinking she wasn't resenting the protection detail anymore. "You asked me."

"So the one time you answer a question of mine..."

I was starting to get a headache. "Are you going to your gym tonight?" I asked, hoping to change the subject. She looked at me like I was nuts.

"What?"

I sighed. "Are you working out?"

"I thought you said, 'You want to have gin' tonight," Ms. Cregg replied.

"No," I retorted hotly, not even wanting to know where she'd gotten that one.

"I can't go to my gym tonight. My gym's flooded."

"How about the White House gym?" She needed something; the woman was wound up tighter than I'd ever seen.

"It closes at seven."

"You could use ours," I offered. Anything to give her an outlet.

"Is it a good gym?" she asked.

I started to respond, then considered the absurdity of the question. That was like asking if Marine instructors are well-qualified. "We run alongside moving cars."

"You don't have to get snobby about it." Now I was starting to be sorry I'd even said anything.

"Would you like to use our gym?"

"Yes, thank you." I sighed with relief.

"Good morning," I said to her, in as calm of voice as I could. Quickly I left before she could say anything else. Outside the door I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a minute. This was going to be a long day.

ooooooooooooo

It was a long day, but it also had one of the more amusing incidents that I've experienced as a federal agent.

After Ms. Cregg had finished working out, she made an unusual request. She asked to try shooting at the gun range.

I was caught completely off guard. A couple of the Russian girls had asked to try my gun out, but by that time we'd actually built up a bit of a rapport. Ms. Cregg and I had no rapport whatsoever, not to mention the fact that she was an adult who, if I remembered correctly, was opposed to firearms.

Just in case I was remembering wrong, I asked her, "Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"Yeah." Somehow her response didn't quite ring true.

"What kind?" I challenged.

"Well, I haven't shot one as much as I've seen others shoot one in the movies," she admitted. It was all I could do to hold back my grin. As the two gymnasts had freely admitted, seeing someone shoot a gun on TV and actually shooting one are two entirely different things. However, she clearly wasn't taking no for an answer, since she'd already started ahead towards the range.

After we got inside, she asked, "You guys use bulls-eyes?" I nodded. "I thought you'd use those little outlines of people."

"We have those too," I told her.

"'Cause, I'm thinking if someone's coming after you they probably don't have a bulls-eye on them.

"They do if I'm guarding you," I retorted. She grinned, the first time she'd actually smiled at something I'd said.

"Tough talk, I like that. Give me your gun."

"Uh, let me get you a 25 caliber," I replied.

"What's wrong with yours?"

"It's a .357 Magnum."

"I've heard of that. It's a good brand." She sounded cute, like kids when they pretend to be adults and talk in what they think is a 'grown-up' way. "Let's go. I'm feeling twitchy."

"That's good news for me," I commented as I reluctantly handed her the gun. "Don't come close to pointing it at me," I warned.

"This is cool," she said, turning towards me – with the gun. Firmly I directed her back to facing the target and slipped behind her.

"I'm going to stand behind you and hold your shoulders," I said.

"I don't need training wheels," Ms. Cregg protested. I didn't argue, just stepped back and watched as she fired the gun and promptly went flying backwards.

"Be careful," I said, struggling to keep from grinning. "That .357's got a bit of a kick."

"That thing practically broke my arm," she said as I moved to help her to her feet. "I've been wrong about guns. Just hand these out to the criminals."

"Want to go home now?" I asked.

"What do you got?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Marksmanship-wise."

"Well, I can fire a gun without falling down, if that's what you mean," I couldn't resist saying.

"Show me what you've got. I'll tell you what. I'll make it interesting for you. Get five bullets. If you can't land any in the middle, then I get to drive my car."

"Well, I think that makes it interesting for you," I answered.

"Come on," she pleaded. One dead center, I never bother you about it again."

"Okay." I saw an opportunity here. "Plus..."

"What?" Ms. Cregg said suspiciously.

"You have to say something nice to me," I told her.

"Something nice to you?" she repeated.

"Yeah." She nodded.

"Okay." She thought for a minute. "Wait. That was a trick. You must know you can do it." Guilty. "Put three in the middle."

"Three?" I asked, barely suppressing another grin.

She nodded. "Three out of five. You want to back out?"

Okay, she was on. "No, I'm just worried about what I'm going to do with the other two. I'll be working against muscle memory."

"Look, if you want to back out..." I started firing before she could finish her sentence. After five shots I brought the target over, showing three holes next to each other on the bulls-eye.

"Wow," Ms. Cregg said in amazement. "That's what I call dead center. What happened to the other two bullets?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"There were five bullets and...I don't believe it."

"Three dead center," I confirmed.

She looked at me like I'd just won an Olympic Gold medal against the longest odds possible. "How do you shoot like that?"

"They give us lessons," I replied. I'm the first to admit, I was not a natural at this when I started. She just shook her head.

"I don't believe it."

"Well?" I prodded gently.

"Yes. Yes," Ms. Cregg said quickly. "I like that you're tall."

"You do?" Somehow I'd never have guessed her to be the type of person to give a compliment on appearance.

For the first time I saw a hint of vulnerability as she answered, "It makes me feel more feminine." She sounded shy as she added hurriedly, "I'm going to go change."

I watched her go, a small smile creeping over my face. For that brief moment, she'd seemed less like a confident White House spokesperson and more like an innocent young girl. Feeling a little like one of those cowboys in a Western – the ones who try and protect the women from the dangerous parts of the world, I couldn't resist twirling the gun like a gunslinger and putting it in my pants waist instead of the holster. The heat from the barrel had me withdrawing it in a second and I grimaced – both at the pain and my own stupidity.

Sometimes it's a good thing to live in modern-day times.

ooooooooooooo

What happened later that night is something bad regardless of what time you live. I was escorting Ms. Cregg home from a party near her home and she'd insisted on walking home. We'd only gone a block when I thought I caught a shadow moving behind us.

"That was a fun party. I wish you'd come inside," Ms. Cregg was saying.

"I wish you'd let me use the car," I said tersely, shooting another look over my shoulder. I didn't see anyone and that made me more worried than if I had.

"It's two blocks."

"That's not the point." I tried to steal another glance without alarming the woman walking beside me.

"You're not big on fun, are you?"

"I'm nothing but fun," I replied absently. "What are you doing wrong right now?"

"Walking on the wrong side of you," she said immediately, and switched side on my confirmation. "We couldn't just be two people whoa re walking home at the end of the night?"

"We are." And who are possibly being followed by your stalker.

Ms. Cregg must have caught my distraction because she decided to draw me into conversation. "You know, you told me a few days ago that you were at Rosslyn and I never said anything. I should have said something."

"Nah." I checked again behind me and thought I saw a hint of movement again.

"What was your, um, what was your job right then?"

"To take the shooters down." Just like I might have to do in a minute.

"I guess I figured."

Everything in me was pretty sure we were being followed by that point, but I sure wasn't going to let Ms. Cregg, or the guy behind us know it. "I had a pretty good angle on the left. Which was Ray Beckwith."

"Which one was Beckwith? I get them messed up."

I'd doublechecked all that stuff after the shopping incident. "The 15-year-old."

"Did you hit him?"

"A lot of people shooting at him," I said absently. The guy behind us was making no move whatsoever and I realized he probably had nothing to do with whoever was stalking Ms. Cregg. Frustration crept into my voice as I understood what was really happening. "Yeah, I hit him. I know I did." _No, not now. This can't be happening._ "I killed him. See? And you said I can't be fun."

"I just like your smile is all," Ms. Cregg said gently. "And I wouldn't mind seeing it again."

This time I was the one who was taking out my frustration unnecessarily and I turned to face her, intent on apologizing. Before I could say anything, she leaned in to kiss me. Quickly I pulled back.

"I can't," I said gently.

"No, yeah, no..." she started to say.

"You know I can't," I repeated.

I could tell she was hurt. "I was just, you're right, 'cause walking in these heels... Aren't you supposed to be walking in front of me?"

Caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic I said, "In a crowded place, but..."

"We feel free to take chances." The comment was intended to hurt and it did.

"I'll walk in front."

"Forget it, I'm home."

"Look..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Can we drop it?"

"Sure," I said quietly. "I'd just like to say...

"I say, 'Can we drop it,' you say, 'Sure,' and then we don't drop it.

"Okay." I felt numb as I watched Agent Thayer greet Ms. Cregg and sign on the radio. "All right, take it easy Pam," I managed to say before getting the heck of there.

ooooooooooooo

"So, you weren't at Rosslyn."

He smiled slightly. "No. But I wasn't well-versed enough in Secret Service history to know of another incident to refer to."

She laughed shortly. "You could have used the 'Classified' answer. It worked pretty well for you with everything else." Shaking her head, she said softly, "So was saying you couldn't get involved with someone you were protecting just about another part of keeping your cover?"

"No. It was about not getting involved in a relationship that was based on a lie." He looked directly at her. "There are a lot of lines I have to cross when I'm undercover, C.J.. But letting an innocent person fall in love with someone who doesn't exist isn't one of them."


	6. Chapter 6

**I've been really bad with updating on this, but here's a nice long chapter to make up for it!**

ooooooooooooo

"Are you sure you were followed?" the Director asked me.

It was late that night and Josée and I were in the Director's office along with Agent Butterfield. I'd called to let them know what had happened as soon as I'd gotten off shift.

"Pretty sure, sir," I answered.

"That's it, we're pulling you out," Agent Butterfield said. I shot a quick look at the Director but to my surprise, he was nodding.

"With all due respect, the assignment isn't done yet, sir," I protested.

"Your part is," Agent Butterfield said quietly. "Your cover's been compromised.

"We don't know that," I replied. "I don't know for sure that it was about me. It's possible it was just Ms. Cregg's stalker and he thought he'd get a chance, only he didn't."

"You don't really believe that or you wouldn't have said anything," Agent Butterfield retorted.

"If it was someone from the King's Men they could have easily taken me out and made it look like an attempt on Ms. Cregg gone wrong. They didn't," I pointed out.

"Unless they aren't sure either." Josée spoke for the first time. "If they were to kill you, that would definitely draw an investigation towards the Secret Service. They're not going to risk that unless they know for sure you're a threat."

"Which is why we can't give them that opportunity," Butterfield said firmly. "The success of this whole operation depends on secrecy. If we don't have that we might as well abort now while we have time to come up with something else, rather than risk going ahead and not have a back-up plan."

"Sir, you told me the risks before I took the assignment and I was willing to go ahead. I am still willing. Now if you think we don', then I'll step down. But if we still have a chance of stopping these guys from killing the President..." I shook my head slightly. "I want to do whatever I can."

Immediately, Josée replied, "So do I."

The Director looked at both of us, then at Agent Butterfield. Finally, he said, "Both of you step outside for a moment."

After the door had closed behind us, Josée gave me a quick glance. I knew what she was thinking, just like I knew she'd never say it. Josée isn't just one of the finest field agents I've ever worked with; she's also one of the quietest. If something affects you personally, but isn't compromising the case, it doesn't matter what it's about; she will not bring it up unless you choose to talk about it.

It was that respect that prompted me to say softly, "Ms. Cregg is attracted to Simon Donovan, Josée, not to me." She nodded, a hint of a question in her dark eyes. "What?" I prompted gently.

"What do we do when that happens?" Josée asked, her voice soft.

"We do what's best for them," I answered. "Even if they don't understand that."

ooooooooooooo

In the end, the Director and Agent Butterfield agreed to go ahead with the case, but with a change. Another team of agents was being put in undercover in various positions around the White House in positions that allowed maximum access and minimum visibility. Although they would be doing their best to find some type of confirmation as to whether the King's Men were onto me, their main role was to provide backup, so that we had another group to put in if anything went wrong.

That's why when I returned to the White House the next morning, it was technically off-shift and accompanied by Special Agent Andrew Seear, who was in his early twenties, but still looked like a teenager. Our cover story was that I was his Big Brother, giving him a tour of the White House. In fact, Andrew would be coordinating the extra agents and was completing a walk-through so that he could better assign their positions.

As we walked, we kept our conversation light, with me giving him typical Big-Brother advice – although I'm not sure how much of it he actually heard or remembered. Then when we got to Ms. Cregg's office, Andrew took his cover one step further by asking if I'd be careful while I was in New York.

The comments caught me completely off guard, but I responded in character, as though I was really talking to a young person who might honestly be concerned about a friend's safety. However all I could think was, "Where is he going with this?"

Then he started with, "You got skills. I don't deny that. You cans hoot, and you're athletic. But you're slow-witted," and right away I knew what was going on.

At our office, it's a ritual to break in new agents with a practical joke known as "The Surveillance Test." The way it works is the new agent is told by his team that they've been assigned surveillance on a person suspected of being a terrorist, who is in fact, another agent on a day off and up for a good laugh. The new agent is given the 'first shift' watching this person and is told another agent will relieve them after eight hours. The supposed terrorist leads them on all kinds of crazy errands to places like the library, the drycleaner, and other normal errands, all the while doing their best to look as suspicious as possible. At the end of the eight hours, they come as the agent assigned to relieve the new trainee and reveal their actual identity. It's a great tradition and can be counted on for a good laugh.

Well, when this joke was played on Andrew, I'd been his assigned 'terrorist' that he'd had to shadow, and I'll admit, I'd led him on a pretty crazy chase. At the end when I'd shown up to relieve him, he'd had a good laugh and promised me that at some point, he would get me back.

Which is what he was doing now. Now that we'd completed the actual walk-through, he was taking advantage of the opportunity to get me back – while remaining perfectly in character for his cover story. I caught on quickly and proceeded to also stay in character – and put him in a headlock – which is when Ms. Cregg walked in.

She kind of gave us a strange look and said, "Good morning," really uncertainly, like she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Quickly I stood in the most dignified posture I could manage and returned her greeting, not daring to look at Andrew.

"I thought you weren't on 'til this afternoon," Ms. Cregg said, confused.

"I'm not," I replied. "I arranged this for my friend Anthony, here. Anthony, this is Ms. Cregg." They shook hands and a thought occurred to me. I knew Andrew would let me hear about it when we got off duty, but I couldn't resist saying innocently, "You think it's possible for Anthony to get a souvenir he can give to his mom?"

"Sure it is," Ms. Cregg replied. She called her secretary in and it was all I could do to keep a straight face, particularly when she said, "That's really sweet, Anthony. Doing something nice for your mom." I was in for it later — I knew that — but boy was I enjoying this.

I still wanted to talk with Ms. Cregg about what had happened the previous evening, so after Andrew had received his keychain, I asked him to wait for me for a minute while Ms. Cregg and I talked in her office.

I think she realized why I wanted to talk because she started talking right away before I could say a word, asking me if 'Anthony' was my nephew.

"No, I'm a Big Brother," I answered. "We've been together about three years."

I'd barely finished answering when she said, "Are you good at it?"

In the middle of trying to find an opening for a serious conversation came the not-so-serious thought of what Andrew's response probably was at that moment, and I couldn't resist saying, 'I don't know. He says he wants to be a Big Brother when he gets older."

"Listen," she said hurriedly. I was thinking there's really no reason for you to make the trip to New York."

I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna be traveling with the President the whole time."

"Can I say something?" I requested.

"Sure," she answered, sounding flustered.

Knowing what I was saying was necessary didn't make it any easier when I told her, "I'm not allowed to date a protectee."

"Who's trying to date you?" she retorted.

I tried looking Ms. Cregg in the eye as I continued, "I'm not allowed to kiss a protectee."

"Who's trying to kiss you?" she asked indignantly.

Gently, I answered, "You did."

"No I didn't." Her response was immediate and hot and I knew she was embarrassed by what had happened. However this was not just a simple case of someone believing they were reciprocating interest, and we couldn't just treat it like one.

"C.J., I'm trusted with a serious job—"

She cut me off with, "Aren't you not allowed to call a protectee by their first name?"

Her response hurt – especially since I knew I'd hurt her. Quietly I said, "Yes, ma'am. I'm gonna take Anthony home."

"There's really no reason for you to come to New York."

Later I'd remember her saying that, and half wonder if I should have taken her up on it. But all I said was "See you on the plane."

ooooooooooooo

I didn't have a lot of time to think about what had happened for the rest of the day. Rather, I didn't make the time, choosing to throw myself whole-heartedly into the job. When I didn't need to be keeping vigilance on C.J. Cregg I was studying President Bartlett's security detail like a hawk, trying to find the turncoat. In fact, I didn't end up thinking about the conversation until later at the theatre, when Ron Butterfield told me he thought he had a lead on her stalker.

Then I did think about it. Because the reason I'd given for not following through with the kiss would no longer be valid. But the real reason I wouldn't kiss her would. And there was no way I could actually tell her that.

What I could do, was bring things back to the way they had been when I'd started on the detail, when Ms. Cregg had been too ticked off with Special Agent Simon Donovan to act on any sort of attraction, had there been any at that point. I wasn't completely sold on the idea – whatever's said about 'being cruel to be kind' – but I knew I had to do something, and it wasn't like I could just tell her the whole truth at that point. Later, when this was all over, then maybe I'd be able to explain everything.

The opportunity presented itself immediately when I rejoined her. She'd apparently slipped the detail I'd asked to stay with her inside the theatre and stepped outside and was about to talk to some reporters. Quickly I whisked her away and into a deserted alley, where I faced her.

"I asked you to wait with an agent."

"I wanted to get some air."

"That's fine, but I asked you to wait with an agent." She tried to interrupt me and I continued, "You can say to the agent, 'I'd like to go outside and get some air,' and he'll go with you."

"I'm standing in the middle of the President's security detail," she shot back. "What do you think's gonna happen to me?"

She'd given me an opening and I had to take it. "I don't know what's gonna happen to you!" I said, raising my voice. "If I did, this would be easy?"

"Maybe if we didn't shout so much," she suggested. The remark certainly helped fuel the frustration I had to feel at that point, but it didn't make what I had to say next any easier.

"I have spent my adult life protecting people. You're the first person who's got me seriously thinking about switching sides!"

"Oh, I'm sorry you feel that way." She'd reacted the way I'd hoped, going back to her old sarcasm. "I think I've been a treat."

"Oh yes, you have," I said, returning the sarcasm. A little Easter treat. Just for me."

"You seem a little riled," she commented.

By this time I was really mad – mad at her, mad at myself for starting this, and mad at the whole situation that put us in this predicament and I pretty much yelled back, "From the first day, you've acted like this is all my fault, when that's a pretty tough case to make."

"I don't think this is your fault," she replied. "And I appreciate everything you've done." The look of shock on her face made my next comment even harder to say.

"I got to say, there are times when it seems you like me."

"I do like you." The whole reason we were having this conversation.

"Then you just walk off to stick it to me, and forget the personalities. It's just stupid!"

"I said, I do like you," she repeated.

I sighed. "I meant the other way."

"So did I. I tried to kiss you."

Oh, no. "You said you didn't!"

"I was lying, you idiot!"

"All right, I'm switching sides now!"

"I was embarrassed. I fumbled it."

Oh, no. This wasn't working. "You didn't. I told you. I'm not allowed!"

"It sounded like an excuse."

If she wasn't going to get ticked off with me, I'd go for a fear angle. "It's not. Someone is threatening to kill you. I can't be... I watched you for three seconds trying on dresses in Barney's, and the guy shows up... I can't be...

"You watched me at Barney's?"

Oh, no. "You're like the girl in Driver's Ed. who won't watch the prom night movie because it's gross, and so ends up missing an important lesson about drinking and driving."

Murphy's law, my phone rang at that moment. From behind me I could hear C.J. laugh and say, "What are you talking about?" as I reluctantly answered it.

I could only half hear the conversation because she was continuing. "You're saying I need to take my protection more seriously? 'Cause, Simon, this is happening to me. I think I take the situation plenty seriously, but I have to live my life, so maybe...

I cut her off. "I have a phone to my ear. What does that mean to you?"

"I shouldn't be talking." Well, she was getting something. I listened to Butterfield's voice and what he was saying made my heart sink. Talk about lousy timing.

"Thank you," I managed to say. Reluctantly I looked at C.J. and said, "They've got him."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We have him in custody. It's him." I brought the wrist mic I wore up to my mouth. "10-50. It's Donovan. They got my guy."

"They have him?" C.J. said in disbelief.

"They stopped his train in Trenton," I told her.

"Where was he going?"

"Here. He wasn't gonna do anything to you."

"This is over," she said slowly.

"There's paperwork," I answered, only half into the humor.

"I meant for me."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied. Before I could say anything else, she leaned forward and kissed me.

It was a couple of seconds before I could finally pull back, and my mind was racing. Somehow I noticed the play was about to start. Quietly, I said, "You can drive your car, walk in a crowd, eat a grapefruit, do what you want."

"How about a drink?" she asked.

In spite of everything, I smiled. "Sure you can drink."

"Can you meet me after the play?"

Oh, no. We were going to have to meet after the play, but it wouldn't be for the conversation she was hoping for. Reluctantly I said, "Yes. Where?"

"Anywhere you want," she told me.

It was then that I spotted something out of the corner of my eye and I knew I had to get her out of there. "How about right here," I replied absently. I half heard her say she had to go to work and then she was gone. And I was left staring at a man who wanted to kill the president.

At the other end of the alley, Secret Service agent Paul Brooke was talking to a blond-haired man, about his age. I recognized him. He was in our files as Peter Howell, a known cell leader for The King's Men.

I flattened myself against the garbage dumpster I was standing next to and watched cautiously as Brooke handed Howell some papers, probably the President's itinerary. The tiepin camera caught that as well, which meant Josée and the others in the surveillance center were seeing everything.

"We've got you, you traitorous bastard," I thought. "And you're going down."

ooooooooooooo

"You weren't actually Secret Service. Anthony was not your little brother. Is Simon Donovan even your real name?"

He looked her in the eye before answering quietly, "No." She looked away, not saying anything for several minutes. Finally, she returned her gaze to his face.

"What about what happened in the Korean grocery?" she said softly. "Was that a cover story too?"

His eyes blinked once, and then looked to the side, as though he was watching it happen again right in front of him. "No," he answered. "That was real."


	7. Chapter 7

ooooooooooooo

Suddenly a voice came over the Secret Service radio. "Agent Capezzi, please report to Location Sapphire." The voice was distinct, female. Josée. _The signal_.

Either Brooke or Howell had just spotted me. I didn't hesitate, just silently slipped out of the alley and immersed myself in the crowd gathering in front of the theatre. I pushed through the people, and then started walking quickly down the street, looking for a public place where I could be picked up.

Most of the stores in that area – either because of the hour or for security reasons. Finally I spotted a small Korean grocery store a couple of blocks from the alley. Trying to remain calm I stepped inside, and then glanced around, adopting the posture of an average customer.

I glanced over at the window, but didn't spot Howell or Brooke. That didn't mean anything. They could still be coming, or planning on sending someone after me. I needed to get out of there, preferably by the back door. I decided to make a purchase, then tell the shopkeeper I was trying to go propose to my fiancée, only I had an ex-girlfriend that wouldn't quit following me and ask to use the back door.

I moved up to the counter and casually remarked, "You happen to know if a Milky Way bar has red meat in it?" The clerk didn't really look at me and I said, "Sorry. Kidding. I'm gonna buy this, and...and a flower." There were some roses next to the counter – it would add credence to my 'proposal' story. And maybe I'd get the chance to send it to C.J., along with a heartfelt apology for everything.

"No, no." The man's voice was barely audible. "We don't have that."

"No, I mean I'm gonna buy this," I told him. "How much is it?"

"No. It-it's okay."

I was completely confused by his behavior. "No, how much is it?"

The clerk still didn't look at me, just said, "You can go."

Then I saw it. The drawer of the cash register. It was open and completely empty. I looked again at the clerk, recognizing his signs of fear and offered him a slight smile. "It's all right," I said softly, watching where his eyes kept glancing to. I put the chocolate bar down on the counter, pulled my gun, and whirled around to face a guy standing next to the fruit stand.

"Don't move at all, I'm a federal officer." I watched the guy move his hand and I tightened my finger on the trigger. "Don't reach. I'm Secret Service. You know you'll never get there. Put your hands in the air."

The guy started to comply and I stepped closer to him, still keeping my weapon trained. "That's it. I want you to lie down face first on the floor." He hesitated and I raised my voice. "Let's go." Slowly, the guy moved into a prone position. I stepped over him and pulled his hands behind his back.

"Keep it up, you're doing great." I grabbed the bow-tie I'd been putting up with all night and put it to a better use – a makeshift set of handcuffs, all the while talking to the guy. "You shouldn't get down on yourself. A Secret Service agent walking in the middle of an armed robbery — that's just bad luck. You like still, okay?"

I stood up and radioed for backup. Obviously my escape plan was going to have a bit of a different ending. I'd offer to clear the backroom and make sure someone else arrived on scene, then get out of there. First of all though, I wanted to try and calm the grocery store clerk, who was still looking tense. I moved back towards the counter, offering him another smile. "Sir, I hate to be a problem customer, but if I don't get a Milky Way bar pretty soon..."

I never got the chance to finish my sentence before I felt a sharp searing pain in the left side of my chest. It's funny, but for a minute I didn't even realize I'd been shot. I just kind of started and turned, in time to see the gun fire again, twice.

There was this long second where it was like I was seeing the bullets, but not believing they'd hit me. In fact, I thought they actually hadn't hit me, because I didn't feel them. Even after I landed on the ground, I was still sure I'd only been shot once and that the overwhelming pain just _felt_ like it was coming from all over.

The grocery store started flickering around me and I realized that this was it. I'd always thought that if I was killed in the line of duty and lived long enough to realize what was happening that I would be scared, but strangely, I wasn't. I just felt bad for my Mom. I'm her only child and was her only hope for grandchildren.

_Lord, be with her when someone tells her the news_, I prayed silently. The flickering had stopped and now everything was just going really dark. _And let them stop this guy from getting to the President._

ooooooooooooo


	8. Conclusion

ooooooooooooo

"They arrested the agent later that night – spent the next few months bringing down the rest of the cell. That's when it came out that although they'd realized I was onto them, they still only thought I was working for the Secret Service." He bit his lip before continuing. "But by the time it was safe to say anything six months had passed. You'd have been grieving too long not to feel betrayed if I showed up again."

"What do you mean safe?" Her voice was dumbfounded.

"C.J. – there was a group of men at large, all of whom would have finished what that agent started in a heartbeat. Saying I was dead is what saved my life."

There was a long hesitation before her next question, as she considered whether or not she actually wanted to hear the answer. When the question did come, it was barely audible. "How bad were you actually hurt?"

"The first bullet went through a lung, the others through the sternum. One stayed there, the other apparently missed the spine by an inch." His voice was matter-of-fact with no emotion whatsoever. "They said later that the lung collapsed. Twice."

C.J. shut her eyes. "They said..."

"I was completely unconscious the first week. In and out the next. I kind of had to take their word for it." He smiled slightly for a moment before sobering again.

"Was it the agent, who pulled the trigger?" C.J. asked softly.

He bit his lip. It had been, but he would never be allowed to say that. "The whole case is still classified," he answered quietly. "Hard to say when or if that will change."

It was the wrong thing to say. The change that came over her face was akin to closing a door. In a tight voice she said, "Bottom line is that the man I cared about, the man I _grieved _over didn't die – he just never existed in the first place."

"C.J., I'm not expecting you to forgive me today – or ever. But seeing you here meant you deserved an explanation."

She stood up and walked over to the window, staring out for several minutes without saying a word. Finally she turned back to him. "Don't call."

The words were what he'd expected, braced himself for, and yet they still hurt more than the bullets he'd taken in the grocery store. He watched, silently as she walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back.

"What's your real name?" she asked. "Who are you really?"

His voice was quiet as he answered. "Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

THE END

**Author's Notes:** **I just want to say a big thank-you to those on the Simon/CJ fanfiction list, whose comments on the similarities between Simon Donovan and Jethro Gibbs gave me the idea for this story. Sorry for the lack of Shipperness for the ending, but I didn't really want them to end up together after the way C.J. was to him throughout the time he was protecting her.**

**Simon/Gibbs' thoughts as he's losing consciousness are based on my actual experience when I was caught in a bomb threat and thought the building would explode before we could evacuate.**

**Special Agent Josée Strug was Vivian Blackadder's predecessor, and transferred over to the NCIS Cold Case Division in March, 2003.**

**To quote Paul Harvey, "And now you know the rest of the story."**


End file.
